The Cooper's Daughter
by youneedtolightenup
Summary: Jonathan needed someone to keep him occupied, didn't he?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Perhaps this is a story that I will continue, considering I've actually come up with full character biographies. I have written one thing previous and I had only gotten to chapter 4 before I decided I hated it and deleted it from this website. Unlike my previous writing endeavor, I feel rather confident about this one, so with a combined effort of both my own stamina and the encouragement of the marvelous readers of fanfiction, I may be able to produce and entire story. Imagine that; me not giving up halfway through something (it will be a first, I assure you). Please leave reviews, I need feedback to know what I need to fix or what you would like to see from the fanfiction. Enjoy!**

Henry Cooper was a metal-worker. His father was one, and his father before that. And from the looks of it, his youngest child, a little girl named Astrid, would be the next in line for the job. Henry smiled fondly at his daughter while he worked. She sat on top of a steel work counter, swinging her legs in time to the clanks of his hammer against the hot iron he was shaping, with a small grin upon her pale, dirty face. Astrid had always been a tomboy, unlike her older sister Ada, who much preferred being inside of the Cooper family's small apartment to being in her father's forge around the corner. Then again, perhaps it could have been that Ada was just much closer to his wife, Thora, than Astrid could have ever been. Ada was Mommy's little angel, and Astrid was his. He supposed that maybe that was just how his family was always going to work.

Regardless, they were a rather close unit. Every Monday they had 'boardgame night', and every other Saturday was a trip to the movies. They were happy, and Henry assumed they always would be. He peeked up at his little girl once more, an amused smirk on his face as he saw her unbridled joy at just sitting in her father's workshop.

"Astrid, come and see how to bend the metal this way-"

"How about yous show 'er how ta do what yous supposed to be makin' for the boss?" Henry swivelled his head around, towards the door, he hadn't even heard them come in: how did they-

"Didn't you hear me, Cooper? Falcone ain't gonna be too happy to know that you been jus' layin' around while he works real hard to get the money he pays you each month."

Henry panicked, quickly standing to move in front of his daughter, who was still sitting on the counter, her eyes wide with fear and confusion as she took in the rugged, dirty appearances of Falcone's thugs. "I am working," he started, "I'm working on it right now, I swear. I'm just teaching my daughter the family business."

"Your daughter, eh? We didn't know you were a family man, Henry! What's her name?" The mobsters began to chuckle horribly, their laughs sounding very much like nails on a chalkboard, the type of sound that makes you cringe just thinking about it. They began to come into the room, like an untrimmed vine creeping in. Little Astrid hid behind Henry, terror filling her senses. She pushed her face into the back of her father's shirt, trying to block out the presence of the mobsters with something safe, like the strong smell of metal and aftershave attached to her father's shirt.

"Look! Can't you see you're scaring my daughter? Please leave! I'll have it done as soon as I can!" Henry was in a panic now. He could feel his little angel's tears seeping through his shirt. He couldn't let them hurt her. When he told Thora he'd taken a job for Falcone, he'd promised- no, he'd _swore_, that nothing would happen to their family. He said it'd just be some extra cash so they could get some nice things, maybe move into a larger apartment. But, no no no, here it was now, _blowing. up. in. his. face. _Henry was angry now, shaking with a fury he'd never seen in himself. But damn him if they thought they could hurt his daughter. _His Astrid._

"Oh Henry, we couldn't trust you ta finish your work...not without a lil' incentive." The mobsters were encircling him now. They were like lions, closing in on their prey. Henry reached behind him, and pulled Astrid into his arms, cradling her as you would a baby, despite her actual age being much closer to 11. The lions smiled.

And then, they pounced.

Henry swung wildly with one arm, the other clutching Astrid to his chest as she sobbed. The mobsters were cruel. They kicked at the backs of his knees, knocking him down; they smashed his sides, making him lose his breath. He huddled on the ground shielding Astrid as they beat him, and he screamed in pain. Poor Henry gasped for air, his lungs being kicked so hard he had lost it, and in that moment they shoved him over, grabbed Astrid by her mouse-grey ponytail and hauled her out of his grasp, shrieking and writhing all the way. The mobsters grabbed her arms, and she struggled. She bit, and clawed, and kicked, all the while sobbing and choking out, "DADDY! DADDY! PLEASE!"

She squirmed in their grasp, crying at the sight of her bloody father laying on the ground. She watched as one of them, with a particularly malicious glint in his eye, lifted her father's hammer and brought it down against his lower back. His screams were the last thing she heard as she was dragged out of the workshop and into the alley behind it.

Astrid was so panicked: she didn't know what to do or how to get away to save her daddy.

"HELP! HELP ME PLEASE! SOMEBODY HEL-"

She was silenced with a punch from one of the mobsters- one who was wearing some rings. One caught her upper left lip, splitting the skin up in a curve around her left nostril. Red blossomed, dripping down her chin and mixing with the tears, snot, and dirt already on her face. The man who had hit Daddy with the hammer approached her with a smile on his face, shoved the dirty rag over her mouth, and clouded her view with chloroform.

Astrid was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I changed the rating of this to T and also edited the summary. This story will be based on my OC Astrid Cooper, so please let me know in the reviews if she's getting to be a Mary Sue. Seriously, **_**let me know.**_** The premise of this story is that Astrid is transformed by the event in the previous chapter from a tomboyish little girl to a vengeful sometimes criminal who does as she pleases. This story will eventually be a Scarecrow/OC, but don't expect him to show up for quite a bit. I'd say that by the next chapter, he's bound to make an appearance in person. Enjoy!**

The gold leaf inlay and red gems adorning the black satin mask seemed to dance in the darkness of Gotham's back alleys. The owner the aforementioned headgear slunk through the shadows, dancing around heaps of rotting garbage overflowing from rusted, rank dumpsters, and tiptoeing about various vagrants, reeking of stale alcohol and vomit, that slumped against the cold, filthy walls of the alleyway. The masked figure came to the edge of the epitome of a Gotham alley, and sank into a crouch, leaning just out of the path of the glow provided by one of the few working street lights, which happened to be installed on the street corner of the jewelry shop across the road. The neon pink of the sign spelled out "Gotham City Jewelers", and cast an eerie glow on the oddly desolate street.

Gotham had been relatively quiet over the past few weeks. It was rather unnatural, like a bird without wings, or a vegetarian shark. All of the city's sounds were muffled, all rather dull. The sharp, piercing screams of arguing couples had vanished, the angry strings of cussing had gone. Even the alleycats had refrained from their normal banshee-like screams as of late.

The silence unnerved Rumpelstiltskin. She didn't like it.

Without the bustle of people on the streets, she couldn't blend in. She was easy to spot, easy to single out. Within a swarm of other people, she could shrink down and go unnoticed, like a chameleon blending into its surroundings. Even with her strange attire, she could make it hard to find her in a large group. But alone, she stuck out even worse than a sore thumb. Additionally, the lack of noise made her more noticeable. The screaming matches between the Gothamites and the alleycats masked her activities, but tonight the sounds were mere murmurs.

Perhaps this robbery would be harder than she thought.

Rumpelstiltskin reached to her waist for the steel cable she kept wrapped around her. The ends were split and frayed; not to mention sharp. Overall, the weapon had the circumference of a quarter, and was as long as a boa constrictor. Rumpelstiltskin ran her fingertips over the serrated edges of the steel coil, using the prickling feeling to bring her out of her mind and back into the present. She stared at the shop across the street, willing herself to get out of her stupor and into a mindset more befitting for a woman about to rob a jewelry store.

She rose from her crouched position and slithered into the yellow glow cast across the sidewalk. Stepping gracefully, she slunk across the small path of cracked sidewalk, and out into the street. The luminescent pink lighting she was nearing created a ghostly effect upon her intriguing get-up. Her midnight blue, paisley, harem pants swished as she daintily floated across the trash-ridden, tar road. She hurried to the wall of the jewelry store, pressing her back into the cold, brick wall separating her from what she was about to steal.

Her hands strayed down to the steel cable once more. Rumpelstiltskin traced her fingers down the twisted cord, gathering the adrenaline needed to complete the task before her. She lifted her right hand to her face, kissing the warm metal of the brass knuckles she wore. Brushing her hand over lips, she reveled in the feeling of her name embossed in the metal. No one would forget her name now. Not after she beat it into them- literally.

Rumpelstiltskin took a deep breath and turned to the door, cable in hand. The muscle in above the left side of her upper lip twitched in a mixture of anticipation and fear. Her right hand quivered as she reached towards the handle. She grasped the freezing metal in her hand and pulled. Locked.

The woman frowned. This wasn't apart of her plan. The door was supposed to be unlocked until the jeweler left. But he was still inside wasn't he?

She quickly sprinted to the other side of the building, searching for an entrance. Around the back of the building, she spied a small window, cracked only slightly, and let out a sigh of relief. She'd be able to get in, and wouldn't have to cancel her annual jewelry "shopping" spree.

"You can't break tradition, after all," she whispered to herself. Rumpelstiltskin quickly looked around for a way up to the window, spying a dumpster she could stand on top of. She quickly pulled herself up onto the lip of the nauseatingly filthy metal box, disgusted by having to touch such filth. She made a mental note not to touch her hair or face until she had a chance to wash her hands.

A small lamp attached to the brick building sat dauntingly above her head. She leapt for it, brushing it with her fingertips, and missed, landing on the lip of the dumpster and slipping. In a panic not to touch the filth, she scrambled to grab onto something, anything that would save her from a filthy grave (after touching such revolting garbage, she wouldn't have wanted to live anymore). Her fingertips barely reached the other side of the dumpster. Inches away from smashing her masked face into what appeared to be mildew-covered pizza, she caught herself, fingers and toes straining to keep herself parallel to the trash in the dumpster, and not laying face-down in it. Her face scrunched up in distaste, as she forced the bile rising in her throat back down. With a hard shove against the dumpster with her fingertips, she pushed herself up, the momentum almost throwing her backwards off the edge and onto the hard pavement below.

Rumpelstiltskin steadied herself, thinking about how to reach the light fixture above her. Suddenly inspired, she attempted to wrap her steel cable around the light fixture, snagging the frayed ends in between the wall and the pole the light was attached to. Giving it a hard tug to see if it could hold her weight, her heart fell when the pole suddenly became loose. The light fixture and pole came crashing to the ground, frightening Rumpelstiltskin into tumbling backwards into the garbage. The light bulb shattered into a million pieces, and the pole that had attached it to the brick wall of the building vibrated with the force of impact. Rumpelstiltskin sat waist deep in garbage vomiting her brains out.

As she waded through what seemed to her as Hell, she heard the back door of the building slam open, and the roar of a frustrated man.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Goddamn kids!"

Rumpelstiltskin scrambled to the other side of the dumpster, and clawed her way out. The alley behind the building was shrouded in darkness without the light, and she used it to her advantage. She kept to the darkest shadows, slinking around the short, bald, angry man who inspected her destruction of the light fixture. She slid to the back door of the jewelry store, gripping the handle. She turned it slightly, hearing the tumblers click, and-

"WHO'S THERE? I CAN HEAR YOU!"

Well, shit.

The man reached down and lifted the pole she had knocked from the wall, holding it in front of him menacingly. He raced towards her bringing the pole down and clipping her shoulder. She hadn't been prepared to be charged, and had only had time to move just far enough over that her brain wouldn't have been bashed in.

Now suddenly bristled, from what with the trash and now this bald, middle aged man, Rumpelstiltskin rushed at him, kicking the pole in his hand to the ground, and stamping his face with the brass knuckles. The man collapsed to the ground unconscious, with the woman's name already starting to bruise on his face. He would certainly be enraged to know that she'd beaten him and stolen from him, but that was nothing new for Rumpelstiltskin. Enemies were much more common than friends in her life. She turned around and reached for the handle of the back door once more, and went in.

She calmly strolled through the hallways, reaching to her waist to grab the burlap sack she'd attached there. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, feeling the rough friction against her calloused hands. A smile spread over her face in joy as she realized she would get away from the robbery scottfree. With the jeweler still at the shop, none of the security systems had been turned on, besides the usual alarm on the display cases. Rumpelstiltskin's mind reeled at the revelation. For a moment back in the dumpster, she thought she was going to have to abort the mission.

Rumpelstiltskin strode into the main room, admiring the showcases of fine jewelry, a smirk settling over her features. Rather than approaching the center case, the woman immediately turned to the wall laying behind a cluttered counter. Placing one palm onto the cool metal workbench, she pushed herself up and over, shoving all of the miscellaneous items off of the desk with a crash. Landing on the other side, she quickly began to run her hands over the blank, white wall in front of her. Her fingers roamed around, looking for any inconsistencies in the wall. Suddenly, her pinky caught on a barely noticeable lip in the wall.

Rumpelstiltskin allowed a wicked grin to spread over her features. She arched her right arm back, and with an extreme amount of force, punched her right hand into the wall. The brass knuckles she wore punctured the drywall, as she jammed her hand into the crack. Using her arm like a crowbar, she wrenched a hidden panel open, plaster falling in huge chunks to the ground.

The woman examined the panel for a moment, then flipped a few switches and lept back over the counter. She sauntered over to a display case, opening the burlap sack she held loosely in her left hand. Using the brass knuckles on her right once again, she pushed through the glass top of a case containing a particularly exquisite set of emerald earrings and a necklace. Rumpelstiltskin grinned: this was going to be fun

A mere fifteen minutes later, and the jolly thief had stolen everything in the main room. She then proceeded to skip down the corridor from which she entered the building, veering off into a room on her left. Stacks of locked metal boxes lined the walls, filled with precious metals and stones ripe for the picking. The woman gleefully danced into the room approaching a box. She stabbed one of the raised letters on her knuckles into the metal and twisted, hearing the lock being twisted and destroyed. Clapping her hands together happily, she ripped the drawer open, allowing the high of crime to overcome her. She dug her hand in and pulled out a handful of diamonds. Her smile widened significantly.

Rumpelstiltskin strutted out of the workshop, the burlap sack bulging. The expression on her masked face was pleasant, just generally happy. As a finishing touch to her heist, the thief used a blade she'd lifted in the workshop and carved the phrase, "WhAt'S mY NamE?" into the metal counter. She flinched at the horrible shrieking the blade produced, but continued on. She had to leave a calling card, didn't she?

Satisfied with her work, the overly joyous girl began to cackle with excitement. She was so thrilled she could hardly stand it, even with the tumble into the garbage. She shivered in disgust at the thought, and pushed it to the back of her mind. Now was the time for celebration, not revulsion. After a final whoop of joy to psych herself back up, she ran to the front door, burlap sack in hand, and unlocked it. Shoving it open with a kick, she ran out into the cool, Gotham night.

All that could be heard was the echoes in the streets of girlish giggles and the scream of, "WHAT'S MY NAME?!".


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: No reviews? That hurts, readers. That really hurts. Then again, this is only my third chapter, so I can't expect too much right? But seriously, **_**review.**_** Even if you hate it. Even if you love it. Even if you're completely unaffected. TELL ME. Yeah, so do that when you're done reading this chapter. Also, I apologize for the bazillion summary changes. But, I've finally decided on one! Enjoy!**

**Thanks to Luna357 and hero stuff rulez for the follow! It means alot!**

Calloused, pale fingers raked back an abundance of brittle, mouse grey hair, clearing a path for a pair of mud brown eyes to inspect the gold chain and red stones before them. Rumpelstiltskin, or rather Astrid, peered upon the small bit of her hoard, eyes gleaming with pride. She had stolen this: she had been great. When she hit that man with her knuckles, and he scre-

Guilt flashed through her, and she visibly flinched. Astrid didn't want to take pleasure in anyone's pain. Rumpelstiltskin did that, and Astrid was not Rumpelstiltskin.

Rumpelstiltskin was the bad one; at least that's what Astrid told herself to be able to sleep through the night.

She dropped the ruby necklace in her hand onto the old, distressed couch she sat on and peeled herself off of it. Standing up and stretching, Astrid released a painfully long yawn, and shuffled towards the small kitchen in her two room apartment. The woman wore red pajama pants, littered with the images of sock monkeys, and a giant men's tee-shirt that engulfed her slight frame. Grabbing an edge of the large garment, she used it to wipe her sleep-encrusted eyes. Last night had been very tiring: all of that skipping and stealing and giggling had really wiped Astrid out.

She sluggishly made her way towards the coffee maker on the wooden counter and shoved in a Kurig cup, silently thanking whoever was up in the sky for her good fortune of owning such an easy machine. Astrid slouched against the counter, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. She enjoyed the relaxation and tiredness. It felt so good to have nothing to have to go steal.

The woman trudged into her bedroom, taking note of the pile of stolen jewelry on the cream dresser next to her door. She sighed in annoyance at the thought of having to deliver all of it (minus a pair of emerald earrings that she decided she was incredibly fond of) to her..._boss_...later on in the day. She flopped onto her sheet clad bed and groaned, her mind once again travelling to the previous night. It all replayed in her mind, pausing on her horrendous encounter with the garbage-filled pit of Hell. Memories of the nasty stench flooded her mind, and despite herself, she raced towards her bathroom, emptying her stomach into the porcelain bowl.

When she had arrived home the night before, despite the joy of her success, she had immediately stripped down and launched herself into the shower, scrubbing her skin until it was raw. Her filthy costume had been secured in little plastic bags, one article of clothing in each. She had to drop each of the pieces off at a different dry cleaners; if anyone noticed that she owned all the pieces of the notoriously malicious Rumpelstiltskin's costume, well, the jig would be up.

The girl pulled away from the toilet and flushed it, laying down backwards on the cold, tile floor of her bathroom. She pressed her cheek against it as her mind wandered. She sifted through thoughts, only lingering on the pest plaguing her mind- _what would happen when she finally got caught? _

Undoubtedly, Astrid would be dragged off to Blackgate for theft and assault, even though, in her defense, she had helped people occasionally. Sure, she was more likely to rob you than to hand you a wad of twenties, but she had been known to help the less-fortunate in the past. She donated some of her time each week to stopping domestic violence in the alleys. Hell, once she even helped two cops stop a would-be kidnapper. She could be good: just when she felt like it.

Astrid wasn't a cruel woman. She was tough, stubborn, and mean-spirited, but she wasn't cruel. She did what was necessary for her to pay her debts. Had it been up to her, she'd have used all her money to buy herself a nice little island in the Caribbean, cozied up to a gorgeous man, and called it a day. But, alas, the prizes she collected were not hers to keep. They belonged to a much scarier breed of criminal.

Her coffee maker beeped, bringing her out of her head, a place she often retreated to. Using her need for coffee as incentive to get up, she hauled herself off the ground and trudged back to the kitchen. Pouring herself a cup, she added creamer and sugar. A sigh escaped her lips once more. Now she had no excuses for lazing around.

Walking with extreme reluctance, she made her way to the bedroom to get ready, slamming the door behind her in annoyance of having to do something rather than sleep all day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! I really haven't had time to update lately. But the good news is that Jonathan will be in the next chapter!**

**Thank you for reading!**

Astrid was thoroughly irked.

And after being forced to cut her day of rest short to deal with the asshats known as Flacone's thugs, of course she was.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder in annoyance, releasing an irritated sigh, slumping against the slowly crumbling brick wall of the abandoned warehouse that housed all of her dealings with the mob. A battered backpack rested by her feet, bulging with priceless jewelry. Astrid stood leaning against the wall, thin lips pressed into a hard line, muddy brown eyes boring holes into a pile of rotting wooden pallets across the room. The mob never took this long to show up. She briefly wondered if Joey, the man who picked up her wares, had been shot, perhaps even killed by Falcone. Astrid quickly shoved the concern from her mind. She hated the mob. They ruined her life.

When she had been taken as a child, Falcone, quite frankly, fucked up any chance she might have had for a normal future. He and his goons had kept her locked up in a grimy basement somewhere in Gotham for five months for God's sake.

Five months of her childhood they'd stolen. Five months of only getting sunlight through a dirty, thick window. Five months of stale air and food.

Five months of being called 'kid' because no one had bothered to learn her name.

Astrid detested it. Astrid loathed it. Astrid hated it. She had been a scared little girl, terrifyingly ripped from her family, thrown into darkness where hope was miles out of her reach. She had felt like an animal, like nameless livestock about to be slaughtered.

Astrid reached up and pushed on her temples, squeezing the bitter memories from her mind. She needed a clear head to deal with the obnoxious Italian mobsters en route to her. She plucked her cell phone out of her pocket, looking at the time. At this point, they were 45 minutes late. She didn't have time to waste here.

Astrid scooped up the backpack, quickly tossing it on to one shoulder. She made for the door, practically stomping in her extreme agitation. The sound of the heels she wore echoed throughout the warehouse. She clutched the door nob, twisting and jerking it, and shoved the door open.

Right intro the face of Gotham's most powerful mob boss.

Falcone scowled at her, swearing as he clutched the nose that she had just hit with the door. She smiled weakly.

"You jus' beat in da nose of da most powerful man in dis whole city."

Astrid had to get herself out of the grave she was digging, and quickly. "Well, I don't think I broke it, did I?", she looked up innocently, batting her lashes at the man.

"You ain't dat pretty, kid.", the woman glared, and he quickly amended, "Astrid, it don't work. I appreciate da effort, but it don't work."

If there was one thing about Astrid he had learned over the years, it was that she became downright bloodthirsty when called anything other than her name.

The young woman's attitude quickly changed into a kind more fit for a sassy teen than a pleading woman. Astrid crossed her arms. "Why are you here? Where's the usual guy, Joe?"

"Proba'ly at da bottom of da river by now."

Astrid nodded, her suspicions confirmed. "So why are you here? Must be important if the big bad boss came to pick up the jewels."

Falcone shot her a nasty look. "Watch yourself," he warned. "I came here ta alert ya ta a little, uh, problem we been havin'. And it's somethin' you can fix." Astrid lifted a thin brow. "I need ya ta help out a certain doc Jonathan Crane, ya know him right?" Astrid eyed Falcone with suspicion. "Well, you're gonna be helpin' him whether ya like it or not. My guy Tony will drop the paperwork off at ya shithole apartment later tanight."

"I won't be home," Astrid replied quickly, almost nervously. "I'll be...working."

"Then you're shit out of luck, kid." Falcone allowed a chuckle laced with malice to escape his throat.

The man, dressed in clothing surprisingly casual for his status, snatched away her jewel-filled backpack, turned around, and paused slightly before his hand gripped the doorknob. He cocked his head over his shoulder. "Thanks for da prize. I'll make sure

Daddy dearest is gonna be alright."

The slamming of the warehouse door was accompanied by the small splashes of tears hitting the cement floor.

Thoughts of her father flickered through her mind. His broken spine, broken mind.

The last time she had seen him, he had been really losing it. He'd thrown himself out of his wheelchair, for fuck's sake.

Astrid quickly shoved the thoughts into a dusty corner of her mind. She wasn't going to be weak. She scrubbed the tears off of her face, red eyes stinging. She pushed her hair off of her face, and with a false confidence, walked out of the building. The loneliness of her footsteps ghosted her all the way back to her apartment.

She opened her front door with an angry twist of a key and jerk of a doorknob, pulling off her heels as she walked down the corridor from the entrance to the rest of her living space.

A picture of her (now broken, but then whole) family stared at her, hanging on an otherwise blank wall across from her.

'_It's all __**your**__ fault_,' the faces of the dead and soon-to-be seemed to whisper. Their happily smiling faces contorted into severe scowls.

Astrid crumpled to the floor in a sob.


End file.
